Saturday, June 24, 2017

Ghoulies II (1988): The first Ghoulies us the sort
of take it or leave it post-Gremlins proposition I’d rather leave than take, but
this sequel, directed by producer Charles Band’s father (and veteran low
budget director) Albert is rather more entertaining. It does help that it takes
place on a carnival – supposed soon to be reorganized by a malevolent money man
– and really puts out all the stops when it comes to the positive carny
clichés. The film is full of fun (and silly) performances like the one of Phil
Fondacaro as small Shakespearean thespian (at least that’s what he says) Sir
Nigel Penneyweight that could be cruel and unpleasant but turn out loving and
fun. Plus, there aren’t too many horror films in which the demons threatening
the heroes are beaten by conjuring up a bigger (adorable) one, or the
traditional “last monster nobody manages to kill” hides away in a toilet.

The Gift (2015): This small, LA-set thriller directed by
Joel Edgerton (who also plays one of the main characters, together with Jason
Bateman and Rebecca Hall) is pretty much a perfect example of its genre: it is
clever, twisty, ambiguous and often truly disquieting without ever needing to
show the worst things going on in it. Thanks to a wonderful script (also by
Edgerton), acting and direction, it does manage the particularly fascinating
trick of being character-driven while keeping the motivations and true nature of
said characters at least partially hidden. I’d say more about it but this one of
those films where telling much about anything going on in it really could spoil
the first impression needlessly.

Body Parts (1991): Eric Red’s horror film about body part
transplantation, mad science, pointless murders, and the question if evil
(whatever that may be) sits in the serial killer arm transplanted
onto psychologist Jeff Fahey is as entertaining as its basic idea is silly. For
most of its running time, it even manages to treat its rather absurd set-up with
the utmost seriousness, doing its best to avoid turning out like Oliver Stone’s
The Hand. Fahey’s performance is a fine bit of middle class paranoia,
and his descent into what we’re actually pretty sure from the outset isn’t
madness works particularly well because Red does manage to actually make the
family unit threatened this time around sympathetic without getting treacly
about it. As a bonus, there’s a bonkers ending and Brad Dourif for once is not
playing the killer.